


Strictly Business

by Katsitting (Nekositting)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Blackmail, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, POV Tom Riddle, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 10:43:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18281315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekositting/pseuds/Katsitting
Summary: “I do not want your money nor your status.”Tom curled his fingers beneath Mr. Potter’s chin, soft and gentle. A mockery and parody of what Tom had seen that evening when he'd caught Mr. Potter with another man. He let his mask drop completely, for the first time since he’d wrung his father’s fragile neck.Tom had never felt more alive, more free.“I wantyou.”





	Strictly Business

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Ariel Riddle. For your kindness, your dedication, and your contributions to the community. 
> 
> This is for you.
> 
> Also, if you'd like, starsandheavyrain made me a lovely podcast <3 
> 
> https://youtu.be/mzBSt0WZ3Ac

The first time Tom saw Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter was pouring himself a glass of the strongest whisky their hosts had to spare.

It was a gesture hardly worthy of his notice. Especially not for a gentleman of Tom’s calibre. Nothing in this parlour could compare to the grandeur of his home since he had assumed his title.

But then, they had shared a glance over the rim of their glasses. Mr. Potter’s clouded eyes had sharpened into points, his lips had parted and then closed into a harsh line, similar to the jagged scrawls of a young child painting for first time. A shock of hostility shone in the gentleman’s eyes, and Tom was frozen. The movement and sounds of chatter in the parlour had melted away, leaving nothing but the heat of Mr. Potter’s eyes and the _thrum, thrum, thrum_ of his own heartbeat in his chest.

Not once since learning of his father’s betrayal had he been this surprised.

Then, Mr. Potter had glanced away, and without any acknowledgement of what had transpired mere moments prior, was gone.

Their moment was over.

But for Tom that moment was only one of many.

Hatred when left unexplained had the unfortunate habit of resurfacing when most unwanted. He knew this first hand.

After all, it was hatred that had, in the end, led to his father’s untimely demise.

* * *

 

The second time Tom met Mr. Potter, he was alone and nursing a small glass of wine.

“I thought I was transparent with my regard, Lord Riddle.”

Tom’s lip twitched with humour. It was inappropriate to be genuinely amused by such a display, but he found that dislike on Mr. Potter’s features was not nearly as disappointing as he had first assumed.

“You were, but I am not one to simply let the cards fall as they may, Mr. Potter.”

Tom swirled the contents of his drink in his glass, making note of the low chatter in the parlour at the Lestrange estate. Anyone who was of import had been invited to the Lestrange home. It was the gathering of the most elite socialites that England had to offer. The fact that a Potter was _here,_ of all places, was as strange as it was pleasing.

Mr. Potter, from what Tom had learned, harboured little affection for the Lestrange family. The Lestranges and the Potters did not see eye to eye in most political conversation.

 _“_ You see, I find your company quite refreshing,” Tom said before taking a slow sip from his drink and putting it down.

Of course, Tom should have known that _politics_ was the cause for Mr. Potter’s open hostility without them ever meeting.

Tom swirled his drink as he considered Mr. Potter’s unkind visage.

_Slavery._

The Potters had made their stance on slavery quite clear, and, as it happened, the Lestranges were not above paying for the slaves that milled about their estate to cater to their, and their guests, every whim. It was the foundation of English society, after all. The slave trade was a profitable business, but Mr. Potter in particular was plain with his rebukes of the entire affair.

_An abolitionist in all senses of the word._

It made sense that Tom, too, would be painted with the same brush as the Lestranges. His association with the slave trade was as damning as his familiar relationship with Lady Lestrange.

“You bring a new perspective to these meetings that no other dares to. Defying expectations is worthy of admiration and respect.”

Mr. Potter’s lips parted with surprise, shattering the displeased expression he’d plastered on his face. It made a youthful and exuberant glow settle over Mr. Potter’s face that had not been there before, and Tom drank it in like the fine wine.

“That’s most surprising, Lord Riddle. Given the company you keep, I assumed that you harboured the same ill-gotten opinions as the rest.”

Tom laughed, unable to quell the sound. The man was cheeky. Bold and brash. His statement was impolite in every conceivable way, but Tom did not fault him for his faux pas. In fact, Tom expected no less from the gentleman.

The Potters _were_ unorthodox.

They both had surprisingly much in common. Though, Tom harboured little doubt that they were different in other, more meaningful ways.

Lord Tom Riddle could hardly find himself advocating for the abolition of slavery, especially when the splendours he now owned were attributable to that insidious line of business. His father had not been a good man. But again, no man in English society could own a slave without in some way condoning the actions that led to the slaves being transported to their homes.

“That would, then, explain your hostility the first time we shared a glance.”

Mr. Potter’s lips curled at the same time his cheeks reddened. Tom’s breath caught at the sight, at the ease with which such a simple gesture transformed the man’s face. The smile suited him far better than the hatred. It gave him life, hinted at a kind and generous temperament that lay hidden beneath his mask. Tom wondered what else might be hidden behind the facade of Harry Potter, the last heir of the Potter line.

“Could you fault me for it, Lord Riddle? A stranger gazing upon another with an indecipherable look on his features _is_ reason enough to make one wary.”

“I do not fault you at all. As I said before, I find you refreshing.”

The red in Harry’s cheeks deepened in a most pleasing way, and Tom could hardly stop himself from stepping nearer to clap the man over the shoulder.

He didn’t understand the origin of such an emotion, why he wanted to close in and trap the gentleman into an uncomfortable position.

_To close my hand around that neck and squeeze._

Tom stiffened at the thought, a sense of unease blooming in the back of his head at the visceral vision of Mr. Potter’s eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Was he losing his sense?

“Well then, Mr. Potter. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but it seems that I am wanted elsewhere.” A lie, of course.

Tom needed a moment to identify this emotion, the one twisting and writhing inside him like the ocean’s dark depths.

Mr. Potter had gone stiff, as if he’d sensed something disturbing about the whole affair, seen something in the shadows of Tom’s face that Tom hadn’t wished to expose.

“U-until we meet again, Lord Riddle. Good day.”

Then, Mr. Potter was gone, disappearing through a crowd of waltzing couples and chattering gentleman Tom did not recognise.

There was little doubt in Tom’s mind that he had unsettled Mr. Potter in some way. The way in which Mr. Potter’s voice had broken and he had departed without waiting for Tom’s response, was evidence enough.

However, that was not what had him staring in the direction Mr. Potter had gone.

It was the sudden bloom of that dizzying sensation in the pit of his stomach, of the excited purr in the back of his mind when he caught a glimpse of Mr. Potter’s discomfort on his face.

_How...curious, indeed._

* * *

 

The twenty-sixth time Tom Riddle saw Harry Potter, Tom was strolling through the darkened hallways of the Malfoy estate.

Few were permitted access beyond the parlour room and the ballroom where men and women danced to their heart’s content. However, Tom was one of the few who held this esteemed honour.

Nothing a few choice promises could not guarantee. Everyone wanted something in the end. Men and women were alike in much the same way. Whisper pretty words into their ears, and surely enough, they would come undone like the tight bud of a flower.

All except Harry Potter, of course.

The very man embracing another gentleman in the shadows, his face wedged between the column of the stranger’s throat and his lips trailing along the skin.

Tom Riddle watched on, unable to resist the allure and the prospect such a sight presented. Two men hidden in the dark, engaged in activities that exceeded the bounds of English propriety— _oh_ , how precious that was.

“We shouldn’t—”

Tom recognised Mr. Potter’s voice in spite of the breathless quality it now possessed.

“Someone could see us.”

Humour lanced through Tom’s mind. It was much too late for that concern. Someone already had, and still was, watching them in the dark.

“Nonsense, love. Lord Malfoy permits no guests this far in his home.”

Tom did not recognise the other’s voice.

_No matter._

He would uncover it one way or another. The night was still young, and considering their current state of attire—fully clothed, their shirt collars partially undone—their affair was far from over.

This was what he was looking for. The perfect evidence to snare the target of his newborn obsession.

_Obsession, yes. That was what this was._

It should have perturbed him, but throughout the course of his clandestine observations, he found himself less and less opposed to his attraction.

_More enamoured. More curious._

Tom didn’t know how long he lingered in the shadows, listening to them breathe and speak intimate words into one another’s ears. Still, he watched them, committing to memory the flush of Harry Potter’s cheeks and the way his lips gleamed with saliva in the dim light.

Until finally, their movements stopped. The hallway had fallen into a thick and heavy silence that alluded to the natural end of Mr. Potter’s and—the now revealed identity of Mr. Diggory’s—activities. Tom took that as his cue to depart.

It would be a waste if he were caught now before he could ruminate on how to use this to reach his own ends.

Buggery between two men was a crime. An act contrary to the teachings of society and the wisdom God had seen fit to pass down. It was certain that any gentleman caught in the act, found to be embroiled in this illicit scandal, would suffer disgrace.

No man, no matter their status, was immune.

Not even Harry Potter himself.

Satisfaction and excitement curled in Tom’s stomach.

He had him.

_Finally._

Harry Potter could not and would not escape. Not if Mr. Potter wished to keep, not only his title, but his freedom.

* * *

 

The twenty-seventh time Tom Riddle saw Harry Potter, it was in the sitting room of the Potter estate. He had called on him, in the hopes that the gentleman would not deny him entry. It was early in the morning and hardly the hour for any sort of conversation.

That was what made it perfect. It was always best to strike before the victim could feel the kiss of the knife in their gut.

“Lord Riddle.”

Mr. Potter was just as handsome in his own home as he had been the first time Tom had seen him. Something warm stoked in the pit of Tom’s stomach, familiar and uncalled for, all at once. It was strange that such emotions could blossom this late in his life.

Tom was no young man, and yet, Mr. Potter managed to drag him back to the days of fisting his shaft in the confines of his bedroom, curious and eager to slake his own adolescent desires. He didn’t understand why Mr. Potter affected him in this manner, why he _yearned_ to see those eyes twist with agony and pleasure, with hatred and misplaced affection.

To possess and covet objects, he understood. But this was beyond his understanding, beyond all comprehension. Tom didn’t _desire_ others, and yet—

_You want Mr. Potter._

He should have killed him like he had his father.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Tom’s lips curved despite himself, his weight shifting from one leg to the other as he considered how to best respond. Mr. Potter was as direct as ever.

“I don’t suppose you could offer me a drink before we begin? It is a most troubling matter I wish to discuss.”

It was a warning and an invitation all at once.

Mr. Potter’s brows furrowed with confusion before his lips pursed into a line. He made no move to leave from where he’d seated himself. Tom didn’t expect him to.

“And what is so serious that you’ve called on me this early in the morning?”

Mr. Potter had gone taut, his words terse and clipped. Tom drank in the sight. Mr. Potter wasn’t afraid. Wary, yes. But the fear had not come.

_Not yet._

“I saw you.”

Mr. Potter froze for a second, his face going blank. He did not understand what Tom meant, it was plain in the silence stretching between them. It wouldn’t be long before Mr. Potter understood, however. Especially when Tom leaned forward in his seat and slid his hand to the back of his neck in the same manner Mr. Potter had gripped the back of Mr. Diggory’s head on that evening.

“You and Mr. Diggory.”

Mr. Potter’s mouth dropped open with horror, and Tom grinned.

“W-what?”

Laughter bubbled up Tom’s throat that he could not contain. Mr. Potter’s eyes had gone wide, his mouth opening and closing in an attempt to formulate some sort of a response. He savoured this moment for what it was, for what it would be.

_The beginning of the end._

The end of Mr. Potter eluding him, and the beginning of a most profitable relationship.

Tom had outdone himself.

“What do you want?”

The transition from unease to rage was so fast Tom almost didn’t catch it. It was like Mr. Potter’s eyes had caught fire, trapped the destructive force of the element and directed its full power in Tom’s direction. If a person could kill with a mere look, Tom was certain he’d be dead.

Tom’s insides curled with excitement.

_Yes._

“How do you know there is something I want?” Tom teased, parting his legs in a display of power and ease. The motion was not lost on Mr. Potter, if his sharp intake of breath was any indication.

“You wouldn’t have called on me this morning if you didn’t.”

_Clever._

“Then tell me, Mr. Potter, why do you think I am here?”

Mr. Potter didn’t say anything for some time, his eyes narrowed and lips tight. It didn’t take long for Mr. Potter to talk, however. He was far from a fool.

“You’ve come to blackmail me.”

“You no doubt understand the nature of your indiscretions, Mr. Potter.”

Mr. Potter’s jaw clenched, his hand carding through his own locks with his obvious nerves. It didn’t need to be said. This conversation didn’t need to carry out for any longer than Tom stating his terms and Mr. Potter complying with them.

But why not show Mr. Potter that there was little option but to obey? Explain without the need of words precisely what it was that Tom wanted?

“How much?”

The question caught Tom off-guard.

It must have shown on his face because Mr. Potter’s expression shadowed with further unease.

That was not what Tom wanted. He had more money than he could spare, more than he had ever dreamed of possessing when he had still been a street beggar stealing and killing for sustenance.

 _How much_.

Tom’s lips pursed. No. This simply would not do.

“Oh, Mr. Potter, you misunderstand.”

Mr. Potter’s mouth parted with shock when Tom rose from his seat, walked around the small table separating them both, and leaned over him.

There was no need to hide his true self any longer. No, not _anymore_.

_Not when he’s yours._

Tom rested his hands on either side of Mr. Potter’s chair, pressing close enough that he could taste the tea Mr. Potter had had that morning.

 _Earl grey_.

Tom’s mouth watered from the smell, a dark hunger gnawing in the pit of his stomach. It demanded to be set free, rattled at the bars of his ribcage to be allowed out and _feast._

“I do not want your money nor your status.”

Tom curled his fingers beneath Mr. Potter’s chin, soft and gentle. A mockery and parody of what Tom had seen that evening when he'd caught Mr. Potter with another man. He let his mask drop completely, for the first time since he’d wrung his father’s fragile neck.

Tom had never felt more _alive_ , more free.

“I want _you._ ”

Mr. Potter’s eyes flashed with a series of emotion, all varying from anger to hatred to panic. It was delightful to watch him unravel, come to the precise conclusion Tom was hoping he’d reach.

“No.”

A thrill shot up Tom’s spine, and before he could stop himself, he was forcing Mr. Potter further back into the seat. Tom squeezed Mr. Potter’s chin, digging his nails hard enough to hurt but not enough to maim—no point in damaging that handsome face—and looked straight into Mr. Potter’s wide eyes.

Tom fell into the green.

“No?” Tom whispered while at the same time maintaining a firm hold on the gentleman’s jaw. “You’ve no choice in the matter.”

Mr. Potter gasped when Tom pressed his lips against his, tongue sliding against Mr. Potter’s quivering bottom lip. There was a faint taste of sweetness on the gentleman’s mouth and something else, earthy and bitter.

_Yes._

"If you do not comply, you will be imprisoned, your title stripped away from you, and your lover dealt with in much the same way."

Mr. Potter let out an unsteady breath, and Tom sucked it in through his parted mouth.

"Your life is mine.”

Mr. Potter’s eyes flashed with something angry and violent. It was the same stare, the same expression that Tom had seen when they’d met. Tom insides curled with pleasure, the sight enough to make sparks of arousal dance along his senses.

“Make no mistake of that.”

Mr. Potter spat at him, his hands clapping against Tom’s shoulders. Tom didn’t bother to wipe the spittle from his cheek. Not when he was caught in Mr. Potter’s stare, the gentleman’s hatred so palpable Tom wondered if he might combust from the fire in them alone.

“I will never want you,” Mr. Potter seethed, his breaths hot and wet against Tom’s face. “Make no _mistake_ of that.”

It was not a yes, but it was as close to an acceptance as Tom expected to receive.

Tom released Mr. Potter’s chin, sliding his fingers down the sharp points of the gentleman’s cheek before catching a tight coil of dark hair between his fingers. The way Mr. Potter’s breath stuttered out of him from the touch made his insides purr.

_Yes._

“That might be true,” Tom said at the same time he threaded his fingers into Mr. Potter’s hair and tugged him closer, pressing their mouths together until all Mr. Potter could and would taste was Tom.

_As he should._

“But I don’t care.”

Tom kissed him like he wanted to devour him, kissed him like the thrust of a knife into a concave stomach. Mr. Potter bit at him, sucked and dragged his teeth against his lips, against his tongue. It hurt, and was perhaps, the most painful kiss Tom had ever had the privilege to share.

Tom wondered if this was love. If the pain of Mr. Potter’s teeth on his tongue, was what the poets of the old paid homage to in their epic poetry and classical literature.

Tom dragged him closer, unable to corral the beast now growling in his centre desperate for more.

“—despise you,” Mr. Potter murmured against his mouth.

Tom couldn’t help the smile that twisted along his face.

He could work with that.

* * *

 

Tom clenched his jaw, a pleasured groan rumbling from his lips.

_Yes._

Dewy green eyes gazed up at him, the expression twisted into a look of pure loathing. Tom almost came from that sight alone, his mind leaping back to the instant Mr. Potter had locked eyes his with his.

_Beautiful._

Tom’s fingers grasped onto Mr. Potter’s hair, relishing in the way it made the male’s curls lose their shape within his grasp. It fascinated him in a manner that no one else had, ever _dreamed_ to.

“ _Oh.”_

Mr. Potter’s tongue glided over the head of his shaft, and Tom’s toes curled in his boots. For a gentleman that claimed he had little experience with the same sex, Mr. Potter was proving that he was, indeed, a quick learner.

_Or a liar._

“That’s it.”

Tom’s insides burned, the familiar pressure of his own climax so close that he could almost taste it in the back of his throat. This was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Sex was a tool, a means to an end. It scratched an itch, but this, _this_ was so much more.

Mr. Potter consumed him in ways that no other could, both unmade and unmasked him. It should have angered him, frightened him to be this exposed. But how could it? When Mr. Potter gave him what no other could?

_A release, an escape, an opportunity to drop the facade and the flattery and don the monstrous visage that was and would only ever be mine?_

Mr. Potter’s movements became more sporadic, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t dare desist now, not when Tom’s hand was in his hair and his own foot had slid away from its place on the floor and found its way to the bulge at the centre of Mr. Potter’s breeches.

_Hard and desperate, yearning for his own release just as much as I._

Tom felt a smile curl over his lips at the glazed look that swept through Mr. Potter’s features, at the flush of red and the wet sound of his mouth kissing and sucking at Tom’s manhood.

“Your mouth is excellent, Mr. Potter. I knew it could be put to better use.”

Mr. Potter pressed on as if he hadn’t heard, but Tom knew that he had. There was nowhere for Mr. Potter to turn, nowhere for him to look save but Tom’s flesh thrusting in and out of his hot mouth.

Mr. Potter had no choice but to listen.

That thought alone was enough to bring him to the brink. Between the feeling of Mr. Potter’s teeth on the head of his prick, at the sight of bright eyes wet with tears, and the hips thrusting into Tom’s leg, Tom came undone. It was quick and violent, the explosion of colour behind his eyes enough to render him speechless.

But still, Tom couldn’t bring himself to stop.

Not when the pleasure singing his blood urged him to plow deeper into Mr. Potter’s mouth, yank Mr. Potter’s by his dark hair, and bury himself as far into Mr. Potter’s throat as he could go.

_More._

Tom thrust inside that tight heat, relishing in the choked and gagged sounds Mr. Potter let out. It was like music to his ears.

“Swallow it.”

Tom held himself still, eyeing the humiliation naked in Mr. Potter’s face and the rivulets of his essence dribbling from the corners of the man’s mouth that Mr. Potter had been unable to lap up. It was beautiful. Exquisite.

It was only once the shocks of his climax had passed that Tom finally released his hold on Mr. Potter’s hair and pulled his softening shaft from Mr. Potter’s mouth.

Mr. Potter’s face was ruined. The tears that had refused to fall when their entire engagement had begun were now wet streams down the man’s face. Tom tucked himself back into his trousers as he watched, refusing to look away lest he lose the sight laid bare before him.

Tom had spent months waiting for this moment, watching from behind the scenes for the instant when he could have Mr. Potter right where he wanted him. And now that Mr. Potter was here, on his knees, Tom wanted to relive this moment again and again and _again._

“A-are you satisfied?” Mr. Potter said after a long moment of silence had passed between them. His voice was rough and breathy, his lips ruddy and plump. Tom was stricken with a visceral need to kiss them, to savour himself in the gentleman’s mouth. Because it was _his_ essence that was ripe in Mr. Potter’s mouth— _his_ body Mr. Potter had consumed and now sat in the pit of Mr. Potter’s stomach.

“Far from it, Harry.”

The man’s name tasted like sin on his tongue. Like rapture and success. Like old money and the dying, gasping breaths his own father let out right before he expired in Tom’s hold. Harry didn’t share the same sentiment, if the terrified gleam that sparked through his gaze was any indication.

No matter.

“For your life—” Tom crouched in front of him, his fingers gliding over Harry’s mouth to gather his own fluids against his fingers. “—I need _far_ more than this.”

He could work with that.


End file.
